Lola
by the.subverter
Summary: After a night of drinking James and Shepard dance in the shuttle bay. James Vega x f Shepard


A/N: Leave it to Bioware to have the one guy I really want Shepard to romance be unromanceable. I love James! What is this? This is a barely there plot one-shot smutty sort of deal with James and Shepard. I wrote it way too quickly and masterpiece theater it is not but I had fun with it. So much flirtation that amounts to nothing! Damn you, Bioware!

* * *

Yup. He's drunk.

Dancin' with this Lola. Probly should of drank less. He catches one square in the jaw. It makes him laugh harder than he'd been laughing before. Shepard moves in front of him, fists up, green eyes glinting, glowing in the dark of the shuttle bay. She glows in a different way here than in Purgatory.

"Hey, that was a freebie," he says.

"That's what you always say," she takes a swing that he barely dodges. "I'm still waiting for you to give it to me." Another swipe and he's too busy weaving out of the way to blush. "Thought you could handle your liquor better than this, James."

"Don't count me out yet," he raises his arms as her fists slam into them. He rebounds quickly and his fist connects with her ribs. She wheels to the side. He's smiling now. "Old age slowing you down?"

"Fuck you," but she's grinning. The Commander likes to give him shit but that's okay. He's just as good at giving it back. His head is swimming. He follows her movements hooked by her eyes. "This all you got? That new N7 tattoo of yours just for looks?"

"Yeah, wasn't the tattoo you were looking at when I was getting it done," he leans his shoulder back avoiding another hit and moving around her. She shifts her footwork, not letting him get too close.

"You're all 'look but don't touch' I don't have a choice."

He laughs and gets a kick to the gut. "Hey…!" He's slammed to the floor before he can protest further. He lands hard and props himself up, the cold metal rivets of the ground poking into him. She looks down at him, looking like some hell's angel or devil—James can never figure her out. "What the hell was that for?"

"Here's a lesson for you, N7," she stoops down beside him, "life doesn't play fair. You ever stop crashing shuttles and playing card games you might win once in a while."

"Couldn't have told me that without knocking my ass to the floor?"

"Yeah. But what's the fun in that?" Shepard asks. He smiles and lays flat on the floor, legs splayed out. "You down for the count already? Lightweight."

"You never stop bustin' my balls."

"I didn't know you had any to bust—with the way you keep dancing around me."

James looks at her, squinting, tonguing the cut on his lip from the hit she gave him earlier. "How much have you had to drink, Commander?"

"Ah, so it's Commander now and not 'Lola'? I've had enough to still be on my feet." She slaps his face lightly. He chuckles. "What do you say, James? You and me, just get this out of the way once and for all."

"I'm a serious guy, Lola."

"Reapers are serious enough for all of us." She straddles him. He tries not to lose his shit when her hands slide up to his chest. "If you're planning on making me beg—gotta tell you right now, I don't beg for anybody."

"Didn't figure you for the type," he lifts a hand to tuck the red behind her ear when she leans down and close. Commander knows how to fill out a uniform. Kicks ass and takes names. Never wanted to fuck his old XO, isn't sure that he wants to fuck his current one. The stirring in his pants tells him otherwise. If the smirk on Shepard's lips is any indication, she agrees. He brings her down until their mouths meet in a hot hungry kiss. They've both been drinking but they're probably more sober than they thought, both of them making excuses to come down to the shuttle bay. He could have crashed just about anywhere. Same with the Lola.

He tastes the booze on her tongue, her lips are soft but her kiss is feral. He wouldn't expect any different. Her fingers are beneath his shirt. The next second it's yanked up, she's pressing kisses along his skin and he's groaning. His fingers find the tiny fucking clasp on her hoodie, yanking the zipper down. She shrugs out of it. They're kissing and stripping. He lifts the Alliance shirt over her head. She wears a black sports bra but he takes that off, too. He tastes what's always been hidden beneath the layers. Her hands are working on the buckles of his belt.

"My head's spinning," he tells her.

"Drunk?"

"Maybe."

"Hit?"

"Maybe."

"Me?"

"Definitely." He takes a breath when her hand slips into his boxers. He's distracted by the bruise forming on her side. He grazes it. Her pale, freckled skin bruises easily. He presses a soft kiss there and she gasps with surprise. They shuffle some more, kissing pulling at clothes, moving just enough and then he's inside of her, hands on her hips.

They both draw long, slow breaths. Her hands are on his chest again. She rides him slowly. This time he's definitely dizzy. He sits up and she wraps her arms around his neck. They don't say anything, just look at each other, move against each other, this one not the dance that they're used to.

His arms circle around her back, pulling her closer, smashed against each other. Her body is muscled but she's soft and warm. He knows he'll want this again, want to know her in every way that he can, find out what pisses her off, what makes her tick, what will make her smile and laugh. "What'll you do if I file a report to Hackett?" He asks short of breath.

"Find another jarhead to replace you."

No more talk.

They're getting heated now, finding their rhythm. She's got a hand against his chest, she's taking him deeper and he's rushing to meet her more quickly. Her fingers curl into a fist and she's breathing faster now, meeting his eyes, smiling like she's up to something, like this is one hell of a ride.

This crazy XO. This Lola.


End file.
